


my violent heart

by mattmurdck



Category: Marvel, Marvel 616
Genre: Blood, M/M, Obsession, Rape, Sadism, Torture, Violence, non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:36:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattmurdck/pseuds/mattmurdck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finally, after so long, Matt Murdock is his and Bullseye isn't about to give him up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	my violent heart

“Red looks good on you.”

It's the funniest thing he's said all day, and Bullseye doesn't bother to hide the grin on his face. It's wide and stretched crooked across teeth stained scarlet, unable to stop himself from tasting that sticky, metallic tang. Not that it matters if he's smiling or not – the blind bastard can't see a damn thing anyway. But he's sure that Daredevil can hear the smile, can hear the subtle nuances of a killer pleased with his work. When Bullseye looks at his nemesis hanging useless from a hook, hands high above his head and knees locked together, blood dripping from the gash along his sharp cheek, he knows he's made something beautiful.

“Matt Murdock,” the killer says aloud and the name is heavy on his tongue, full of weight. It is this name that made it so that he could track down the man who had been his object of obsession all these months, this name that gave life to the heroic myth. Daredevil is a symbol, a goddamn beacon of salvation, some fallen angel. But Matt Murdock is a man, and men can be broken.

Bullseye knows this fact very, very well.

Every person has a weakness and for the best targets, it starts with the mind. That's what he's learned over his years hunting and killing whoever his bosses pointed a finger at; everyone could break. For most people, all it takes is a few splintered bones, perhaps a couple missing fingers, and they spill like a broken dam. But Matty here is stronger than that. First, he had to get into his _head_ , had to understand what made the blind lawyer tick. Turns out, Murdock spreads his love a little too thin and a little too often, falling half in love with any pair of tits, caring entirely too much about deadweight, lump friends. He cares so much that Bullseye didn't even have to kill anyone in order to get the confrontation he so desired. All it took was a lock of bright red hair here to remind him of his Soviet bitch, a dart that knocked out one Foggy Nelson long enough for him to think his bestie was dead, a picture of a man with a grotesque, circular scar pushing along his batshit ex.

And now, a week later, look where they are.

In his one-bedroom flat miles away, an entire wall is dedicated to the face that is now before him. It's hard angles, the look of two day old stubble, the exact shade of eyes that cannot see, the precise degree of a scowl as opposed to a smile – Bullseye knows all of these things. Newspaper, stolen snapshots, artist renderings all are pinned to his wall, covered in throwing darts or pencils or other sharp objects. This is his church, his shrine to the destruction of greatness, the physical manifestation of his desire to place Daredevil's skull on his mantle. After so long, so many months of chasing, it is finally reality: his greatest wish, his one desire: Matt Murdock at his complete mercy.

It's only after he slides his serrated knife once more against his idol's bared ribcage that Matt finally stirs. After the first few dull stabs and the light blood loss that followed, he'd passed out – weak. But now, pain rouses him once more, milky-blue, sightless eyes staring forward to where his nemesis stands. He spits and blood joins its brethren on the floor, his teeth bared. “Just fucking do it, Lester,” he seethes, trying to use the name like a weapon. But the intimacy of it only warms Bullseye's blood, sends his heart thumping even more excitedly against his chest. Hands made for murder curl into the other man's dirty blond hair, jerking his head back to bare a throat pale and pulsing and relatively unbloodied. Murdock's body is like a work of art, molded by God's own hands.

“Do what now, Matt?” He responds in kind, the name like a promise heavy in the thick, stale air, as gentle as the lips that he presses to that creamy stretch of flesh. The hero flinches as if he's been punched in the gut, and this only makes the smile broader. “What's the matter there, bud? Cat got your tongue? You told me to do something – so _what should I do?_ ” A hiss, the knife lifts, edge sliding where lips just soothed. The bloom of blood is distinctly erotic, but Bullseye was hard the minute Daredevil showed his goddamned righteous face.

The fingers of the hands high above the lawyer's head are each broken but they still twitch into a fist despite the pain it has to cause. If it hurts him, Matt does not show it, his face stoic and blind and cold even when it's run so warm with blood. “Just kill me if you're going to do it.” The words of a man who believes this place is not the end, that there is a kingdom in wait high above, a salvation to this Hell. Bullseye believes in no such things and wishes he could make his dearest enemy understand that there is nothing after this life. Once Hell swallows them all up, there is no escape. Now that he is the Bullseye's clutches, he will _never_ let him go again.

And –

“Don't be silly. I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to _keep_ you.”

When he leaves him in the darkness that night, Matt Murdock is limp and weeping. He is broken, wheezing, a pathetic thing. But before he began to cry, he screamed.

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter is coming very soon and is Matt's POV.


End file.
